


Interdisciplinary Studies

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Outbound Flight - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Character Study, Childhood Memories, Gen, Thrawn's Art Thing(tm), Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-04-20 03:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Cadet Mitth'raw'nuruodo discovers the ties connecting art and war.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 35
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Interdisciplinary Studies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AntigravityDevice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntigravityDevice/gifts).

> I was intrigued when you mentioned being interested in Thrawn's childhood, and had to write this! Hope you enjoy this, AntigravityDevice, and happy Yuletide!

The ice barge rocked slightly in the angry wind buffeting it, causing Thrawn to shift his feet on the deck and grip the railing more tightly. He had never been on an ice barge before, preferring instead to travel the underground passageways carved out by his ancestors millennia ago, but to go to his desired location, aboveground transportation was the only option.

Protected from the wind by the force fields enveloping the barge, he squinted against the white light of Csorb high in the sky, his gaze sweeping across the vivid blue glaciers looming over them. They shone in the bright light and reflected it a thousandfold across the barren landscape. Barren, at least, to the naked eye; Thrawn knew from his studies what sort of microorganisms dwelled in the ice and freezing pools of Csilla's surface. It was a far cry from his home on Copero, where the flora and fauna were so thick as to encroach upon the urban spaces the Chiss had carved out of the jungles and into the sides of mountains.

But he could no longer think of Copero as his home. No, he was now a child of Csilla, home of House Nuruodo, to which he was Trial-Born—a worthy lineage few commoners could aspire to. Other families may take in orphans from the community crèche, like how the Mitth' family had rescued him and his brother, but House Nuruodo was far more particular. It was an honor to be chosen by them.

Much like it was an honor to be allowed into his destination, he thought as the ice barge finally docked, swaying on its repulsors as the physics of that deadly wind took their toll. The Chiss Expeditionary Library: home to the knowledge of the Chiss people stretching back millennia. It was very unusual for a cadet like Thrawn to cross its threshold, but he had been persuasive.

And his brother's influence, coming from House Safis, which was an offshoot of the House that controlled the Library, had certainly helped. He would have to thank Thrass for that later, though Thrawn had less political capital and therefore less to bargain with.

No matter. Thrawn put the question into the back of his mind, to be pondered later, as the turbolift he and his escort had entered began its smooth motion downward. It plunged further than Thrawn had thought the Chiss had delved, deep into the crust. He wondered what other places might be hidden beneath the well-traveled tunnels of Csaplar, what other secrets he might gain access to as he grew older.

"We have arrived," the escort, part of the phalanx of House Irokini. Her voice was low and respectful. Thrawn thought her words were rather self-evident, as the turbolift's doors had already slid open, revealing the atrium that housed the entrance to the Library, but he had learned lately to bite his tongue rather than point out errors in others' logic. Mostly.

"So we have, Commander," he agreed, and out of the corner of his eye, saw her eyes narrow. He had not struck the right tone between deference to a superior and confidence in his own skill. Thrawn had struggled with that as of late, as he rapidly rose to the top of his group in every subject, outclassing his groupmates particularly in the studies of strategy and, to his instructors' collective surprise, anthropology. Thrass had pointed out multiple times that his ego could perhaps stand to be deflated a bit. Thrawn should probably listen to his brother.

They crossed the atrium, Thrawn casting his gaze at the high ceiling, which had an intricate depiction of the Csillan constellations emblazoned across it, glowing with bioluminescent light. The guards at the doors to the Library consulted his escort's identification. Thrawn studied them, noting the pride in their stance, their easy confidence. Too confident, he judged; they did not deem Thrawn or the commander a threat, as was clear from their quick scan of the commander's ID. It would be easy for Thrawn to infiltrate the Library with an ally, should he choose to do so. If he were the commander here—

But as Thrass liked to point out, he was still a cadet, and thus had no business dictating policy to his elders.

He could still think it, though.

The massive double doors swung open, and all thoughts of the lack of the guards' military discipline fled his mind as he stepped through into the Library.

It was one room, carved out of stone, as large as a docking bay, but filled with knowledge instead of ships. He could hear the faintest hum of complex atmospheric controls, no doubt there to keep the Library's contents in perfect condition. The room stood four stories high, and on the ceiling and at evenly-spaced intervals along the shelves were glow panels emitting a warm yellow light—precisely in the spectrum to avoid eye strain.

Thrawn stepped further inside, marveling at the scale of it all, and his escort said, "You may peruse the stacks at your leisure."

Oh, he would.

No librarian came to join him; he knew this invitation was partly a test, a way for House Nuruodo to glean if their rising star was indeed clever enough to scout out important information from a source as vast as the Library.

He wandered along the shelves, occasionally brushing his fingers across the spines of the books lining them. Books. The librarians insisted that it was the most sensible, permanent, and secure way to store data. Thrawn wasn't sure if they were right, but, as he pulled a book at random off the shelf and opened it, the fine pages smooth against his fingertips, he had to admit the sensory experience was superior to holoscreens.

The text he had chosen was a case study of a blimp-like species that lived in the atmosphere of a gas giant, many systems away. Intrigued, he paged through the book, scanning the words as he went. They called themselves the Pgnanah—he examined the phonetic shorthand next to the word and worked out a pronunciation in his head, thick and guttural—and, interestingly, seemed to have no concept of war. Their world was so inhospitable they had developed a monoculture, one where each Pgnana relied upon the others to survive.

Thrawn flipped to the index at the back of the book, located the section he was looking for, and turned to the page of Pgnanah art.

No flats here; only gaseous, impermanent sculptures molded from their very atmosphere. There also seemed to be a small portion of Pgnanah society who collected the few shards of rock that hadn't burned up as they entered atmosphere, and wore them as jewelry.

This page, Thrawn examined closely. There was a pattern to the arrangement of stones on the necklace-analogues worn by various Pgnanah that seemed to correlate with region. It was subtle—very subtle—but there. Without additional context not provided by this book, it was difficult to say what it meant, but Thrawn had his suspicions that the Pgnanah were not a monoculture at all, no matter what the Chiss scientists might have concluded.

He set the book down gently, open to the page on Pgnanah jewelry, and picked up the one next to it, this one on the physiology of the Pgnanah.  
For a moment, Thrawn ran his thumb along the page and gazed around the massive room. Hundreds of thousands of books, millions even—the amount of knowledge in this room was staggering. Staggering and priceless. A distant part of him wished he could spend more time reading for pleasure, but his coldly rational side knew he was there to impress House Nuruodo.

Still, though…

He glanced again at the page on Pgnanah jewelry, his mind racing. Carefully, Thrawn stacked all books related to the Pgnanah in his arms and took them to a table. Perhaps it was foolish to concentrate all his efforts on one species, one source, but his instincts told him that wasn't the case. His instincts told him, in fact, that there was something significant here, a finely-woven thread between the three themes of the books: art, culture, and war. He only had to learn to understand it.

And he would. Thrawn was sure of it.


End file.
